


Animal Therapy

by distantglory



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 00:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5313695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantglory/pseuds/distantglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greed's in a mood. Dolcetto decides to fix that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Animal Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Repeat after me: The original Greed and his gang should have gotten more screentime.

**Animal Therapy**

 

The Devil’s Nest seems unusually subdued when Dolcetto walks in. It’s quiet. Everyone is concentrating on their drinks, or on the decor (which is a mistake; the place is still being patched up), or on anything but each other. 

 

Dolcetto sniffs. He’s still learning to sort through the information that comes to his nose, but the bar at least has nicer smells than the labs. Perfume, sweat, alcohol. Ulchi in the corner, subdued as well. Bido’s been through recently, though Dolcetto can’t see him now. Martel and Roa’s scents are older, so they must still be out. 

 

And of course, he can smell the boss—definitely inhuman, sharp like an alchemical reaction, sooty and dark. At least, that’s the best that Dolcetto is able to describe it. He feels like he needs to develop a whole new vocabulary to cope with his new senses, sometimes. Ordinary humans just don’t have words for the things he can smell.

 

Greed has been through recently, and Dolcetto would bet that the current feel of the bar has something to do with that. It’s not fear that the patrons are feeling; Dolcetto’s way too familiar with that sour stench, and it’s not in the air here. But there is a sense of unease. Anxiety, maybe.

 

Concern?

 

Dolcetto slips through the crowd to Ulchi’s corner.

 

“What happened?” he asks in an undertone, surveying the crowd. They don’t need eye contact to communicate, and hadn’t even before the alchemists had got hold of them. After you’ve been through hell with someone, you can pick up different kinds of signals.

 

“The boss is in a mood,” replies Ulchi.

 

Dolcetto figured that. And like the bar patrons and Ulchi himself, he’s not at ease with that, even though he’s pretty sure that Greed isn’t the type to take a bad mood out on his people. “Any idea what about?”

 

Ulchi shakes his head. “He went out for a while. Said he wanted to take another look around town. He came back about half an hour ago, grabbed a bottle and went upstairs.” The other man nudges Dolcetto’s shoulder and nods in the direction of a couple of women. “He didn’t even take any notice of these pretty ladies.” Ulchi sounds slightly shocked by this. 

 

Dolcetto fights the urge to roll his eyes. “So why haven’t you made a move, then?” It wasn’t exactly a rule that Ulchi waited until Greed had picked someone out, but it played out that way more often than not. 

 

“Because I don’t know if he’s gonna come back down any time soon,” says Ulchi. “And I don’t wanna step on his toes if he decides he needs some sexy ladies to cheer him up. That’d make  _me_  feel better, if I was in a mood.”

 

Dolcetto hums noncommittally, thinking hard. “Where are the others?”

 

“Bido’s napping. Martel and Roa went out to find some more materials to fix this place up.”

 

“They weren’t with the boss?”

 

“Nah. He went out after they did.”

 

Well, at least that removed the possibility that one of  _them_  had been the ones to put Greed in his mood. Not that Dolcetto had really thought it was likely. They were all still treating Greed carefully, trying to figure out where the limits were. And while Martel could get pretty fierce when her temper was sparked, she wasn’t the type to say something straight out. Stealth and snark were much more her style, at least these days. She’d gotten more patient since the experiments. 

 

Dolcetto stood up. “I’m going to go see what’s up.”

 

“You sure about that?” asked Ulchi, heavy brow ridges lowered with concern. “He didn’t look like he wanted company…” Despite his cautionary words, there’s a spark of hope in his tone. Yes, they’re still wary of Greed. But they _like_ him. He got them out of the labs, and he’s given them a good place, a _safe_ place. There had to be something they could do to cheer him up.

 

Or maybe that was just Dolcetto’s canine side speaking.

 

“Did he say anything about wanting to be left alone?” asks Dolcetto.

 

“No…” There it is again, that mingled hope and nervousness. Dolcetto can almost smell it. Scratch that, he _can_ smell it. Nervousness is slightly tangy, but not as sour as fear; hope is subtle and he lacks the vocabulary to describe it.

 

 “I’m just going to go ask if there’s anything we can do,” he says.

 

Ulchi relaxes a fraction—then his relief is replaced by a look of concern. “What if he kicks you out?”

 

Dolcetto shrugs, trying not to show the way he mentally cringes at the thought. “If he kicks me out, he kicks me out.” He hopes that isn’t going to happen. But he’s prepared for the possibility.

 

Ulchi accepts this. “Be careful,” is all he says.

 

Dolcetto heads for the stairs. 

 

The Devil's Nest was a bit shabby when they got hold of it, and most of the effort at refurbishment so far has gone into the bar. The stairs that Dolcetto climbs creak like crazy, and there's chunks missing out of some of the wooden facing. The wall has rusty water stains on the plaster—they haven't had a chance to repaint yet, though Bido had fixed the leaks after Roa had been dripped on for three nights straight and groused that he hadn't expected to be subject to water torture  _after_  they left the labs.

 

No one had missed the way that Greed's eyes had narrowed at that. Ulchi had assured their boss that there hadn't actually been water torture in the labs. Then Martel had spoiled it by muttering that the scientists and alchemists had better and quicker ways to torture someone than something as simple and time-consuming as dripping water. Greed hadn't said anything for a couple of minutes. Then he grinned his shark's grin, clapped his hands together and said, "Well, you're well out of there. But can one of you do something about the leaks?" 

 

It's that memory, and others like it, that Dolcetto clings to as he tries to open the door at the top of the stairs. They got rain last night, so the thing has swelled in its frame. So much for stealth, he thinks, as he finally has to put a shoulder to the door and shove hard. It squeals a protest, gives way abruptly, and nearly dumps Dolcetto on the floor. 

 

Greed doesn't react to Dolcetto's sudden entrance. He's got an arm slung over the back of one of their battered couches, and he's staring at the far wall as though he's trying to burn holes in it with his eyes. Dolcetto glances nervously at the stained plaster, half-expecting there to be tiny smouldering holes forming in it. All the chimeras know that their boss is even further from humanity than they are, and none of them are quite sure what the limits of his abilities are yet. For all that Dolcetto knows, he might be able to burn holes in walls with his eyes.

 

But the plaster is still the same ugly faded green and rusty red, no more damaged than it already was.

 

Greed's other hand dangles a mostly-empty bottle. Dolcetto can hear the remaining contents sloshing with the movement of Greed's hand. The alcohol stench is sharp enough to make him wrinkle his nose for a moment, before he can mentally tune it out. He's gotten to be good at that.

 

"Hey, boss-man," he says, approaching slowly. "Ulchi said you were up here. Something the matter?"

 

Greed tips his head back and squints at the ceiling. Dolcetto waits. Some of his nervousness is fading out, now. Greed doesn't seem to be angry—more…well. 

 

If he weren't the boss, Dolcetto might have used the word 'sulky'. 

 

"Hey, Dolcetto," says Greed. "What animal did they cross you with, again?"

 

Dolcetto blinks. "Dog. Why?"

 

"Thought so." Greed crooks a finger at him without looking. "C'mere."

 

Puzzled, Dolcetto obeys. Greed pats the couch cushion beside him, and Dolcetto sits, gingerly. "What's up?"

 

Greed doesn't say anything. But after a moment, his hand descends onto Dolcetto's head. Dolcetto flinches. It's partially surprise—seriously, what the hell?—but it's also because he's got a bit of a thing about people touching his head. His hair has grown enough to hide it pretty well, but his alchemy brand was written across his scalp. He's not sure whether the increased sensitivity of the area is an actual physical effect or some kind of psychological thing—he hasn't asked any of the others whether the same thing has happened with them and their brands—but the pressure of Greed's hand on his head is an overwhelming thing, especially without warning.

 

At that flinch, Greed removes his hand immediately. The sudden  _lack_ of pressure is almost as overwhelming. 

 

This would probably be the moment to ask what the hell Greed thinks he's doing, but Dolcetto’s mind has gone treacherously blank. Because it might have been overwhelming, and he wishes that Greed had given him a warning, but that doesn’t mean it was  _bad._

 

Weird, of course, but Dolcetto wasn’t sure that the word had any kind of meaning for people like them. 

 

“If you keep thinking that hard, I think your head might explode,” says Greed. His voice is level, neither apologetic nor annoyed. 

 

“Yeah, well, if you spring something like that on me...” Dolcetto trails off. “Just give me a warning, okay?” Should he be objecting to this? 

 

“Ah. That’s where your alchemy brand is, isn’t it.”

 

Apparently Greed doesn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘weird’ either. It doesn’t seem to occur to him that petting one of his people might be at all odd.

 

Dolcetto gives up. “Yeah, that’s right.”

 

“I’m going to touch your head now,” says Greed. There’s a chuckle underlying the words, but he waits for Dolcetto’s nod before he actually touches. 

 

And actually, once the sensitivity dies down, it’s...nice. Dolcetto’s eyes drop to half-mast as Greed gently scratches.

 

“Not that I’m complaining, boss, but what brought this on?” he asks, bracing elbows on knees and relaxing into the touch.

 

“Most animals hate me,” says Greed. “Side-effect of being what I am, I guess. All natural creatures—even some of the unnatural ones—tend to react badly.” His fingers scrub circles in Dolcetto’s hair. “That’s how I found you all in the labs, actually. You were the only ones who didn’t start raving when I walked past your cages.”

 

Dolcetto remembers this vaguely. The other chimeras—the more animalistic ones, the purely bestial ones—had raised one hell of a ruckus that night. 

 

“Did you hear all the dogs barking earlier?” asks Greed. “I think I set off every single one on this side of town.”

 

Oh. “Yeah, I heard.” He hadn’t thought too much of it. 

 

“Now you know another way to find me when I’m out,” says Greed. “Just follow the trail of angry animals.”

 

That’s good information, kind of. But... “That still doesn’t explain why you’re…” He tries to think of another word, but there isn’t one. “…petting me.” 

 

“Sure it does. You’re just not thinking about it right.”

 

The petting is not helping Dolcetto to think clearly, but he gets there eventually. It’s a strange thought. Greed is so obviously inhuman in some ways that it’s always surprising when he shows some normal trait—like wanting to pet something furry. “I didn’t know you liked animals,” he says.

 

His boss laughs, fingers not ceasing their movement. “I adopted you guys, didn’t I?”


End file.
